J NE GOLDEN EVENING, 110
miles north of San Francis
co, I strolled the quiet streets
of Boonville, a tiny community set amid the
vineyards and orchards of the Anderson Val
ley. About a hundred years ago people in the
area decided to invent their own language
Boontling. Some of the older residents of
Boonville still speak it, especially if they're sit
ting around at the local cafe drinking a horn of
zeese (cup of coffee), munching on a few lowee
zies (soda biscuits), and telling a few wheelers
(tall tales).
Boontling, they say, was dreamed up by
adults who wanted to evade sharp little ears
and indulge freely in gossipy nonch harpins
(objectionable talk). It also meant locals could
say what they pleased right in front of visiting
bright-lighters (strangers, presumably from
the big city). In traveling through this remark
able region, I came to realize that ever since the
first settlers arrived in the gold-rush days of
the mid-1800s, northern Californians have
invariably spoken their own language, though
no other town has yet gone as far as Boonville.
Northern California has always been a
place apart, combining scenic splendor with
the pioneering heritage of its people. Theirs is
a stubborn independence linked with a spirit
of community and a deep love for the soul of
the land. All of this has widened the gulf
between them and their ever expanding sister,
southern California, whose political power
and growing need for resources, many feel,
have long overwhelmed the needs and inter
ests of the north. And lately the northerners
have begun expressing themselves very
clearly, using words that the rest of California
can understand. One of the most forceful
words is secession.
Last June, 31 of California's 58 counties
held an advisory vote on secession, and 27
opted for it. Secession has been an issue more
than a hundred times since the state's creation
in 1850. But this was the largest vote yet, an
unmistakable signal that a complex web of
problems and concerns has evolved into dis
cernible fear and frustration.
More than a century of logging in the vast
mountain forests here has endangered the
prospects of the loggers almost as much as
those of the spotted owl and the marbled